


Fugue

by SSjUmi



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: 16 years ago he would've gotten recognized within a few days or weeks, Amnesia, Angst, Dissociation, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Fugue, Gen, Gen but sexuality and internalized bs play a big role, Grief/Mourning, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Temporary Amnesia, a bit of sex work I guess, also there's a little bit Bennoda (no romo tho) but it's not the point of the story, and he's not the dude with the band name on his back and flames on his wrists, but it's 2017 and no one who's not an active fan knows his face anymore, or any of the bandmembers' faces for that matter, so there is that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-07 17:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 58
Words: 8,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12846264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SSjUmi/pseuds/SSjUmi
Summary: Everything has been too much recently. So Mike just walks away. - a collection of drabbles and double drabbles in non-chronological order about Mike suffering an episode of dissociative amnesia.





	1. Thanksgiving 2017

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a little drabble collection going on over at LPF](http://lpfiction.com/story.php?id=16546), and somehow several of these little stories ended up happening in the same universe. So I thought putting them up as an own collection over here would be a neat idea :)
> 
> Unbeta'd. Words are counted by OpenOffice.

It's 2am and the kids, Anna, his parents, they're fast asleep inside the cabin while Mike sits outside.  
Smoking. Drinking wine. Freezing.

It's 3am. The bottle is empty, his lungs refuse another smoke. But he's still restless.

It's 3:30. He's leaving, the lantern above the cabin door but a faint glow in the distance behind him.

4am. There's a ringing noise in his ears and he feels like he's walking behind himself. Like his self is slipping through his fingers. It's nice.

The sun comes up. He meets another hiker who asks for his name. He doesn't know the answer.


	2. February 11th 2018 [Double Drabble]

A panic attack and the weight of 41 years of memory rushing back into his mind like water through a broken dam – not exactly the kind of birthday present he wanted. Or expected. But then again, when he woke up that morning, he didn't even know it was his birthday.

So there's that.

He knows he should call someone, anyone, to let his loved ones know he's okay.

But his shift won't be over for at least another three hours and he promised Christian – the guy he met six weeks ago, who lets him sleep on his couch (yay for not being homeless anymore!) – to take care of dinner.

 

Part of him would like to just keep this new life.

 

But he's aware that at some point someone will recognize him. If that girl in the LP shirt earlier that day hadn't been too busy on her phone to even look at him while she ordered her French Vanilla Cappucchino...

 

So it's three days later when Anna receives a DM on Twitter.

It's a selfie he took with Christian's phone. "Guess who just snapped out of amnesia. I'm kind of stuck in Vancouver. Come pick me up?"


	3. Early March 2018

Mike has a therapist now. And he works hard to spend as much time as possible with friends and family while trying to get the messy remains of his professional life back in order.

But there's something in his eyes, in the way he sometimes stares into space and briefly loses touch with his surroundings, that makes Anna uneasy. She's afraid he might leave again – this time consciously.

"Where to, though? I can't just stop being me anyway." he replies softly and shrugs, when she asks him.

"I miss you."

"... Sorry."

 

And that's all he has to say.


	4. New Year's Eve 2017/18

"Hey, uhm, sorry, do you have some spare change? I'd like to get myself a coffee."

It's coincidence that he just read a blog post by a former homeless person that morning, who said the worst part of their life on the streets was feeling invisible. So he stops and looks at the guy who just approached him.

He looks a bit shaggy with his black disheveled hair and beard, but sober (not that it should make a difference).

Christian smiles and shrugs. "I'm actually about to get one myself. Want to join me?"

Mike considers the offer. Then nods.


	5. November 24th 2017 [Double Drabble]

"Where are you headed?"

"I don't know. Next bigger city? Whatever is on your route."

"Well, jump in then."

 

A few hours later he gets nudged awake.

"We're there."

Mike tiredly rubs his eyes and smiles. "Thanks for the ride. I wish I could pay you, but..."

His new acquaintance musters him thoughtfully before smiling, too, albeit a little embarrassed. "Look, I'm... I'm not one of _those_ people, I will not, uh, force you to anything... but since you're asking..."

Mike blinks.

The guy shrugs, awkwardly running his hand over his neck and avoiding to look at him. "I've been pretty lonely lately... and you're cute and look like you might be up for, well... this kinda thing..."

"What kinda-" And then the coin finally drops and Mike feels heat rushing to his cheeks and ears. "Oh!"

"You really don't have to, but you asked, so..."

 

When Mike climbs out of the truck and waves an awkward goodbye at his new... friend? twenty minutes later, he still doesn't know if he actually wanted what he did, but he didn't really mind it, either. Also the $20 bill the guy gently put into his hand afterwards might come in handy later.


	6. Late January 2018

When Brad walks into their studio at Warner's, two months after Mike disappeared, half of the equipment is gone.

"Slipknot need the Goldmund Amps and Muse asked for the Mapex. We figured you guys wouldn't need the stuff anytime soon, and it's not yours anyway, so..."

 

They hadn't felt the need to remind them that nothing in here was actually theirs in 17 years.

But with both their frontmen gone, album sales dropping and no upcoming tours in sight...

 

Brad reaches for the acoustic guitar, but it's snatched right out of his hands with an apologetic "Sorry, Cher needs this".


	7. Spring 2018

Mike doesn't like to talk about Vancouver.  
Dave assumes it's because he was homeless there for a while, and because not knowing who he was was scary and he doesn't like to think about it too much.

It's only at a party a few weeks later that Mike admits to thinking about it a lot, actually.  
He just wants to keep his memories to himself, to have something that is just his and no one else's.

"I remember my name and my life now. But who I am? Still no clue." And with that he empties his glass and leaves.


	8. Early December 2017

It's kind of a funny feeling, not knowing who you are and not really giving a crap, too.

"What's your name?"  
"What do you think my name could be?"  
"I dunno... maybe you're a Benjamin?"  
"Wow, you're the first one to get it right on first try."  
"Really?"

Benjamin – also known as Elijah, Theo, Noah, Alex, and, unbeknownst to himself, actually kind of famous under the name Mike – nods and smiles. He's good at smiling. Or so he figures from the way people smile back.

"So... how much?"  
"I only do handjobs and those are 30."  
"Cool. Deal."


	9. March 20th 2018

A guy just wanted to mourn a dead friend on said friend's birthday, but things got out of hand when he forgot – or just didn't care – that he had a tendency to want to die himself when he drank. Oops?

 

Quite a few months later Mike feels like mourning a dead friend on his birthday, too.

So he spends the day tweeting positive stuff and after dark locks himself in his studio with a bottle of rum.  
He wears a comfy onesie though, doesn't have a belt handy, so his escape is limited to googling apartments in Vancouver.


	10. Late March 2018

Mike meets up with a couple of fans for a project of his.  
They're wonderful.  
Understanding. Respectful. Full of love.

He still comes home with ringing ears, brain and skin crawling with anxiety, and lungs almost too tight to breathe.  
And he doesn't even notice he's humming to himself – no melody, just one low, steady tone – until Otis asks him why.

 

"I would like us to take a break... if that's okay with you" he says to Anna later that night.

She nods but there are tears in her eyes, and it makes him hate himself a little.


	11. Christmas 2017

"30 for a handjob? And how much for the other stuff?"  
"I don't do other stuff."  
"I give you 50 to return the favor. And another 50 for a kiss."

Mike – or Nick, as this customer calls him – frowns.

"C'mon. 130 bucks. We jack each other off and kiss. You can decide how much tongue."  
"..."  
"130 plus my scarf. You look like you could need one."

 

Nick _does_ need one. He also needs a thicker sweater, gloves, food.

 

For some reason he tears up when they kiss - a memory maybe.   
He decides he's okay with tongue.


	12. 2001 [Triple Drabble]

They're drunk and high and on the road.  
And kissing. Touching. Gasping. Moaning.

It only happens once.

They laugh and joke about it afterwards, and nothing changes.

Mike loves Anna more than he even thought possible.  
He knew he wanted to spend his life with her the moment he met her.

She knows he's bi.  
And that it doesn't change a thing; she's still his everything and he's not more likely to cheat on her, leave her, just because he's capable of being attracted to men, too.  
And he doesn't _want_ to be that kind of person either - the one who proves the ugly myth of the unfaithful, untrustworthy bisexual. So he forbids himself to even think about his attraction to other people, especially men.

It doesn't matter.

 

So why does he cry and struggle not to sniffle too loudly, leave out sob, in his bunk in the middle of the night when he allows himself to remember how it felt?  
Kissing one of his best friends.  
The smell of his sweat and cologne. And cold smoke. Whiskey. Pot.  
Touching him. Being touched, held, by someone as tall as him, as strong, if not stronger.  
Stubble tickling his fingers as he caressed his cheek, jawline.

 

It was Mike's first kiss with another man. Only kiss.

Probably last kiss, too.

 

He could tell Anna. Be open with her. But he's too afraid she won't trust him anymore if he does.  
What they have is perfect and it needs to stay that way.

 _He_ needs to stay that way.

He's a good guy and he knows how to keep himself out of trouble; out of unwanted spotlight, too.  
He's not hiding, he just likes his privacy.

Everything's fine, he just needs to forget this kiss.  
This part of himself.

 

He's fine.

 

 


	13. Early April 2018

It's more of an ugly snerk than a laugh that escapes Mike when the young man he just met introduces himself as Charlie.

 

The sex is good.  
Mike did his research and what he lacks in experience, Charlie easily makes up with his own.

Mike wonders if he'll ever be able to kiss, to fuck a guy without tearing up, but maybe it's just because Charlie is as tall as him, well-shaved, lean but also athletic.  
Probably the stupid lip ring, too.

Apparently the early2000s are back in fashion.

Mike, that idiot, laughs. Well, snerks.

 

And tips the guy well.

 


	14. Still Early April 2018 [Double Drabble]

"How did you do it? How come no one recognized you? Saw you?

Mike smiles and leans a little closer to the mic. "I was homeless. Which means I basically had invisibility superpowers."

 

He briefed his friends at KROQ before they went on air, told them exactly what kind of questions he was willing to answer and what would make him shut up for good.  
And, as per usual, they respect his decision, now building the interview around it.  
They know how to honor a good exclusive story and try to make sure it won't be the last.

So the rest of the interview is about homelessness, shelters not receiving enough support, and cities funding police raids under bridges, spikes on the ground and park benches impossible to lie on.

A small voice in the back of Mike's head wonders what would happen if he brought up sex work, too. The laws around it. How they hurt the wrong people and keep them unsafe.  
He hushes that voice.

Not today.

The interview ends with him announcing dates for a few upcoming solo shows and laughing at a dumb joke.

 

Later that night he texts [Christian](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12846264/chapters/29334474) and invites him to L.A.

 


	15. Mid-March 2018 [Double Drabble]

"I think the worst part isn't even that he's gone. The worst part is _how_ he left. I try to tell myself it was an illness that took him, because that's what it was. But... that's not how it feels like. It feels too violent.

Like murder.

Someone who didn't deserve to die was brutally murdered.

He could be so cruel to himself. And such a hypocrite, too! For him, everyone deserved kindness and patience and a second chance, as many chances as necessary to get better or at least hang on. Except himself.

And it made me feel so... angry... and helpless. But he didn't want me to always fuss over him, and I wanted to see him smile, but I... I couldn't function if I took his demons too serious. Sometimes I just. Just had to... ignore them. But what if... what if that was... what if that's the reason he thought he couldn't... shouldn't talk to me? Why he didn't even give me a chance to try to... to... to be there... for-" And that's where Mike's voice breaks.

 

His therapist offers him tissues.  
And the compassionate silence she knows he's most comfortable with in such moments.

 


	16. November 21st 2017

Mike is packing.

He's about to spend Thanksgiving with his family in a cabin in the Canadian woods, like every year.  
Surrounded by people who love him.

It's the right thing to do.

 

Only he's kind of tired of always trying to do the right thing.

 

Being there for others has always involved conscious effort on his side, but now it's even become exhausting to just be there for himself.

He'd sell his soul for a break...

But that's not the kind of person he is.

 

So he smiles, when Anna says she's looking forward to the trip, and nods.

 


	17. April 2018

"Your studio is as big as my whole fucking apartment! That's ridiculous!"

"It is", Mike mumbles with a tired smile.

"Also: 8 bathrooms? Seriously?"

Mike shakes his head. "Look, I told you, I... I know, ok?"

Christian sighs. "Well, then do something about it. Stop being such an emo about your "golden cage". If your money can't buy you your own happiness, then use it to buy someone else some. Be the sugar daddy you always wanted to be." He grins. "You could start by inviting me to DisneyLand, for example."

"You're awful."

"You missed me."

"... Yeah. I did."

 


	18. April 2018 / the pit - Part 1/2 [Double Drabble]

A handful of people recognize Mike in DisneyLand, and his smile when he signs their stuff and poses for selfies with them is warm and brilliant and entirely what they want to see and not at all who he feels he is anymore.

And it hurts.

 

A band Christian stans on youtube has a gig in a small downtown club later that night, and Mike takes him to see them.

The bandmembers are in their 20s, maybe early 30s and their equipment barely fits on the tiny stage. They're dressed in black, as is most of the crowd, and their music reminds Mike of Family Values and Ozzfest and it doesn't take long for him to feel himself starting to tear up a little and dissociate.

Everyone around him is jumping, screaming, singing along, and it's not unlike drifting in the ocean during a hurrican. Uncomfortably close to how his mind is feeling a lot of the time, too.

Christian is shouting at him to be careful, there's a pit forming behind them.

But Mike just grins.

And turns around and dives right into that terrifying and welcoming mass of sweaty bodies colliding, shoving, swirling, and it swallows him whole.

 


	19. early February 2018 [Double Drabble]

It starts out as an inside-joke, Christian calling him _guy_ because neither of them can be bothered to decide on a name for him.

And before he knows it, it _is_ his name.  
Guy.

Same with his living situation – it was supposed to be a one-time thing, Guy staying at Christian's place for New Year's Eve, taking a shower, washing his clothes, sleeping on the couch instead of under a bridge.

But one night turns into two, three, ten, because they always have something to talk about and Guy's cooking easily beats the ready-to-eat stuff and take-out Christian usually lives on, and suddenly they're roommates.

And one night, while sharing a bottle or two of wine and watching an old Western, Guy wonders how it would feel if they kissed. He's not sure if it's because he's attracted to Christian – tall, cleanly shaven, soft brown skin, long dark hair he usually wears in a bun, curious eyes and an infectious smile – or because he's longing for that kind of intimacy in general.

Either way, he keeps his thoughts to himself.

He's just a guest, after all.

 

And what used to feel like freedom soon tastes like loneliness.

 


	20. April 2018 / the pit - Part 2/2 [Double Drabble]

It's two hours later and the stage is dark and empty, and the rest of the club brightly lit to help the crowd find their way back to the real world.

Mike is soaked in sweat that is not just his own, his ears are ringing, his shirt loose where strangers' hands have gripped it, and he knows he must smell awful. His throat feels raw, bruises are blossoming in various places under his skin, he's dizzy and his body feels so light, he almost expects to float away any second.

He won't, though. Because Christian is holding onto him, riding the same post-concert high he is, and pressing him against the wall next to the back entrance of the club.

It's the first time Mike kisses a guy without tearing up.  
He left his angst behind in the pit, at least for tonight.  
This kiss doesn't taste like missed opportunities, a dead friend or not knowing who he is anymore.

It's sweat and beer and feeling alive instead. Most of all want, though.

 

It's the following night and they kiss goodbye in Mike's car before Christian gets out and disappears into the airport. They won't see each other again.

 

 


	21. Early April 2018

A friend once joked that the best way to determine how fucked up you are is to sing "Runaway" to yourself and see how it makes you feel.

Are you annoyed? Or don't feel addressed at all, just excited to see the fans' reaction?  
Congratulations, you're alright.

Or do you feel it in your lungs, heart, bones, and catch your voice getting louder? Does it make you yearn for something you can't have?  
If so...

 

Mike laughs. Fiddles with his belt. Runs his hand over his throat. Shudders. His ears ring.

 

He wants to run away.

And never say goodbye.

 


	22. Early May 2018

It's kind of funny, actually.  
He spent so much time angsting over his life, his identity, future, he can barely remember working. But apparently he did, because right now he's posting about an upcoming album, a tour, videos to accompany the music, etc.

It feels like coming home, like reaching the safety net after a long fall.

It also feels like the worst thing he could possibly do to himself.

He asks his therapist if what he does could qualify as a form of self-harm and she hands that question right back to him.  
And he nods.  
And smiles tiredly.

 


	23. Fall 2017

Fragile.

 

A word Mike never associated with himself.

Emotional, sometimes sensitive, occasionally vulnerable. _Human_. Yes.

But fragile?  
That wasn't him.

Except that now it is.

 

He's having a good day, laughing and joking with friends, planning his next vacation.

Until something reminds him of his loss.

Suddenly he's delicate like porcelain, and knows that if anything goes wrong now, if he can't distract himself fast enough...

His eyes sting and next thing he knows his heart and lungs are made of lead.

 

Anna opens her arms and he curls up in her lap, tries to explain what's up, and fails.

 


	24. Early May 2018

"I don't know... it's. Weird. I felt less like I was selling myself when I actually _was_ selling myself."

"When you were _what_?"

Mike blinks. And stares at Brad.

And Brad, he just stares right back at him.

 

A few seconds go by in which no one says anything and children's laughter, cars passing by far away, chirping birds and the soft rustling of lush, green leaves in front of the window seem to be the only sounds left in the world.

 

Brad's still staring.

Until finally, Mike sighs. And grins. "Just kidding. I'm just nervous over the album release."

 


	25. Late 2006

It unnerves Mike, the way his best friend can talk about his traumata.

He looks him in the eyes, appears calm, focused, and seems to have the right words for everything.  
Those words, they're neither too removed, too clinical, nor too graphic or too blurry.  
They're well chosen, clear, and make Mike's stomach turn.

But most of all, they make him sad.  
They make him want to hug his friend, to shield him from the unkind world that did those things to him.

But he can't.  
His friend doesn't want him to.

 

So he keeps his distance, and just listens.

 


	26. Mid-May 2018 [Double Drabble]

Sneak peak into Mike's therapist's notes that session:

 

  * "what if" scenario #5: told C he was scared to lose him (4th time opening up to C (out of 6) drunk o high, 1st time admitting fear of loss)

  * opening up as reason for C not calling ("he promised to never scare me like that again")  
-> counter: earlier scenario (not communic. fear enough = reason C didn't consider him night of †)

  * annoyed w self -> context "must finally get over it"/feeling stuck/foreign to own life & self/letting down loved ones

  * hope work makes him "feel home again"

  * counter: scared he "forgot how to do this" (stage/press/networking/tour routines)

  * counter: hopes he forgot -> new start, not thinking about/missing band

  * counter: feels he deserves to not enjoy tour/album

  * counter: "who tf am I even if I don't enjoy this anymore?"  
-> "can't let down fans"  
-> "band's fans? my fans? C's fans?"/he = "just substitute for band/C to them"?

  * admits dissociation

  * panic attack (usual: hypervent., not moving except tremor), approx. 4min, breathing exercise + eye contact helped

  * session prolonged for 5min until full recovery

  * back to smiling wh leaving




 


	27. Mid-May 2018 / a day or so after the last chapter

It feels surprisingly good to be on stage again – and exactly as terrifying as he expected to perform songs he wrote about his pain while still _in_ pain.

Relieving in one way and suffocating in another.

And as soon as he leaves the stage, the past hour is just a blur, and as the adrenaline drops, it becomes harder and harder not to cry.  
He thought he was over this.  
He's not.

But Joe, whose shirt he ends up crying into in the men's room later that night, probably has tears in his eyes as well anyway, so whatever.

 


	28. 1996 [Double Drabble]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you, Tumblr anon :D

"Please don't take this the wrong way, ok? But... are you gay?"

Mike's hand slips and the eye of the character he's been doodling ends up crooked. He doesn't dare to look up from his drawing, barely even dares to breathe, and his "Why are you asking?" comes out way too thin – and late – to sound casual.

His brother shrugs.

 

If Mike wasn't so occupied with himself he might've realized that Jason's not even looking at him, and that his smile seems a little stiff.  
But all of these details are lost on him, because he only sees his own trembling hand.  
He strengthens his grip on his pencil and swallows as silently as possible.

 

Jason clears his throat and widens his smile. "I don't know. It's just... you draw a lot of guys and they're... I don't know. You make them look, uh... ... kind of pretty?" He winces. "I mean. I... I really lack the artsy words for what I mean. They just look. Nice. Like... Not like the superheroes in the comics I mean."

After a few seconds of silence, Mike shrugs awkwardly. "I... I don't think I'm gay."

"Oh... Okay."

 

And that was that.

 


	29. Late May 2018

L.A.'s so big, it's always kinda funny to run into people you know by coincidence.

But then again, even if queer communities aren't necessarily small, they tend to be tight. Someone always knows someone else who knows someone you know, too.

This time it's Jason's turn:  
His husband knows the owner of a gay bar celebrating its anniversary. One of his regulars is a guy called Charlie they meet while leaving and – here comes the funny part – that makes them run into Jason's brother as well. Who currently has Charlie's hand in his pants.

What a small world!

 


	30. July 29th 2017

It's bright, warm, with a deep blue sky, and a soft ocean breeze rustling through the treetops.

But Mike's hands are clammy; he's shivering, dizzy, sick. He already threw up this morning. Twice.  
Anna promised it would be okay if he stayed in bed, but he couldn't.

He _had_ to come.  
Or he'd never believe it's true.

He stares at the urn through dark sunglasses while his mouth moves and words fall out that meant something while he wrote them.  
Now they just taste like ashes.

 

The wind picks up.

 

And the world becomes a little colder. A little darker.

 


	31. 2001 and later [Double Drabble]

"I can't actually classify my sexuality because I check out males and females. I can be aroused by either sex or whatnot, so I don't see myself as a heterosexual man or a homosexual man" he says and shrugs.

And Mike, he just stares at the wall behind the interviewer, lungs tight, heart beating so loud as if it was him who just casually outed himself, not one of his best friends.  
He's dizzy, almost sick from excitement and maybe a few beers, too.

He's not alone!

 

*

 

“What _is_ it with fans quoting stuff we never said to us?”  
“You did say that, though.”  
“... I did?” His surprise seems genuine. Then he grins. “Wow, that sounds like I'm the biggest slut! Just how fucking wasted _was_ I?”

And Mike's heart, it sinks a little.

 

*

 

“I'm glad you're not gay” are his first words in the morning, after they spent the night making out like horny teenagers. “Otherwise this would be hella awkward!” Then he laughs.

And Mike laughs, too. Because what else can he do?

He's never felt so alone before.

 

*

 

Years pass by and soon it feels too late to tell him.

So Mike doesn't.

 


	32. 1992

"I heard Evan's a fag."  
"Would explain why he's such a bitch."

They snicker.

They're 15 and have no idea what they're talking about.  
They just know that fags are there to be made fun of. And that doing so proves you're not one yourself.

Mark's breath tickles as he whispers more delicious gossip into Mike's ear.  
But it's okay, because Mike kissed a girl at a party last week and liked it.  
So he easily ignores the soft fluttery feeling in his stomach, grins, nicknames their classmate "cocksucker" and bathes in Mark's laughter that earns both of them detention.

 


	33. Late May 2018




	34. (still) Late May 2018 [Triple Drabble]

It's dumb, really. Having your gay brother, whom along you grew up in a loving, tolerant family, ask you about your queerness, and still feeling your stomach turn and your throat dry up. And yet...

'Mike?'

“Bi? How long I've known that... that I'm... bi?” His voice is so thin it's pathetic.  
He takes another swig of rum. Clears his throat, runs his tongue over his lips, tries a smile and is glad it's not a video call.  
“I dunno... I mean... highschool, I guess?”

 _Why didn't you tell me?_ , Jason probably thinks.  
'And you never told Anna?' is what he asks instead.

“I did. Once. But I think she... forgot? Or thought I was joking? I dunno, it's been awhile.”

 

Silence.

 

Mike's face is numb and the room is swaying.  
He looks at the bottle in his hand and this time, the smile comes easily.

'Does _anyone_ know?'

He shakes his head, mumbles a low “nope”, and drinks some more.

 

Again, Jason falls silent.

 

Mike assumes he'd get a hug now if they were in the same room.  
The writing on the bottle label blurs.  
He could really... really... need that fucking hug right now...

But his mind's an asshole, so when he tries to picture this hug, it's not Jason who comforts him.

It's someone who won't ever pull him into a hug again, someone whose smell he can barely remember anymore and whose voice he misses more than anything else in the world, even though he still can't bring himself to listen to it.

And it hurts so much, so _loud_ , it drowns out his brother's voice and there is nothing Mike can do about it except whisper a weak “sorry”, hang up, stumble to the couch, curl up on it and cry in silence.

 


	35. July 24th 2017

Leaving the house feels like entering a set, only that the cameras, the lights, the crew are missing.

But Mike has to perform anyway.

They're out of milk, cereal and coffee.  
The kids want his home-made pizza for dinner.

The sun's too bright, the sky too blue, and the air way too thin.  
But so far he's doing good.

Then they play  _Heavy_ on the store radio, just as he's about to grab the milk.

So he leaves his cart where it is and walks away.  
Just leaves.

 

And still no one's there to shout “Cut!” and bring reality back.


	36. May 2018, probably

Mike yearns.

He can't quite put his finger on what it is he yearns for, though.

He just knows his life doesn't fit him anymore; it's too tight here and too wide there, itches, the labels scratch.  
And the person in the mirror wearing it, staring back at him? A stranger.

Whatever it is he's yearning for, a dead friend of his already had it.  
And it's gorgeous. And terrifying. And might even bring him back, at least a little.

But Mike knows he's not allowed to taste it. Make it his.

So he just yearns.

For nothing. Something. Whatever.

 


	37. 2005 [Double Drabble]

It's weird, watching from the outside as someone else breaks.

Mike tried comforting him, assuring him, challenging his skewed views. Arguing.  
But it either did nothing or just made them grow more distant.  
And when he didn't hear from him for a while, he even caught himself being thankful for that.

Unfortunately though, Mike loves this idiot dearly. And he sure as hell doesn't want to set himself up to blaming himself should he lose him.  
So, despite his guts telling him not to, he drives over to his place in between tours.

And now they're sitting at the bottom of the stairs and he's putting a bandage on his dumb friend's arm.  
His fingers are covered in blood, it's on his shirt, too, and his pants; they're sitting right in the middle of an alarmingly big pool of sticky fucking blood and glass shards, and the metallic smell is so intense, it's making Mike sick.

And the walking disaster he calls one of his best friends?  
Wasted. Sobbing. Begging him not to call an ambulance.

Mike briefly wonders if he'll feel relieved once that idiot finally succeeded in accidentally killing himself...

Then he drives him to the hospital himself.

 


	38. Late February 2018

Mike caught up with what he missed on social media while gone and now he's sitting at the bottom of his unlit pool at 3 in the morning, hands firmly closed around a pair of heavy dumbbells.

He's cold. A little drunk, too.

A few bubbles escape his lips and distort the wobbly, soon full moon above.

 

He wonders how long his idiot friend held out before he changed his mind.  
If he will change his mind, too, just the other way around...

 

In the end, his burning lungs make the decision for him.

But his mind keeps drowning anyway.

 


	39. August 2017 [Double Drabble]

Lately Mike's been feeling like Alice in fucking Wonderland whenever he tries to make sense of his feelings, and today's winner in the category _Is This Normal Or Am I Just Fucked Up_ is the realization that he thinks of his dead best friend like an ex. Having lost him feels like a break-up.

He kinda wants to laugh at this thought.

Or cry.

Or berate himself.

Or maybe just hit his head against the wall because his brain is obviously trolling him.

 

In the end he just flinches as the knife slips and cuts his finger instead of the onion he's preparing for dinner.

 

 _This is ridiculous_ , he tells himself as his vision begins to blur, _**I'm**_ _ridiculous._

 

But there was someone who loved him, deeply, unconditionally even, and that someone is gone.

He stopped loving him, just like that.

And his sincere “It's not you, it's me” means fucking shit. Or that there are other people who love Mike, too.

 

Someone who promised to always be a part of his life broke his promise and left him behind, and there's nothing Mike can do about it.

 

Except cry.

 

And dream of banging his head against a wall, maybe.

 


	40. Early June 2018

It's been ten weeks since he asked for a break, and months in which he slowly drifted out of her reach in every other sense of the word as well.

 

She wonders if he's sleeping around.

Probably.

Wouldn't be the first time, too.

 

She hates being reminded of that.

He always feels like a complete stranger to her when she is.

 

 

She plucks some berries from the garden to put them into the kids' lunchboxes while he's making their sandwiches.

A song their friend liked is on the radio.

 

They're lonely, both of them, but no one says a word.

 


	41. 2005/2006

They're drunk and high and on the road.  
And kissing. Moaning. Fucking.

It only happens once and ruins everything.

  
  


He loses a friend.

Might lose his wife, too, once she finds out.

 

*

 

He doesn't tell her until he's back in the studio for the next Linkin Park record.

She doesn't ask who it was. Maybe she already knows but doesn't want to _know_ , doesn't want to ruin the song he wrote her. He writes her another one anyway. Moves into the guestroom for a while. Accompanies her to therapy. And waits for her forgiveness. Or goodbye.

 

*

 

He's lucky.

She stays.

 


	42. Fall 2001

Mike doesn't say anything, he just bites his lip and watches Scott Weiland putting a small stamp on his tongue before passing it to their singer in a sloppy, drunken kiss.

Concern would probably be the most appropriate reaction.  
Or anger.

Instead he just feels like an idiot, face flushing and stomach turning with badly concealed jealousy.

He doesn't alert them to his presence.  
Just turns around and leaves.  


That night he dreams it was him on his knees, accepting whiskey and acid kisses, fucking up on stage and laughing into the horrified faces of his friends and their fans.

 


	43. 1993

“What's your problem, Shinoda? Afraid to bring dishonor to your family?”  
  


The anger boiling up in Mike's veins is so hot, it's freezing.

He sees himself shutting up his so-called-friend by shattering his jaw with the crowbar, blood and teeth splattering onto the concrete.  
  


In reality he doesn't even take his eyes off his hands and just pries open the car door as told. The others immediately pour over him, into the vehicle, and grab everything they can get their hands on, stereo and all.

All Mike takes home that night are some fancy sunglasses.  
And disgust with himself.

 


	44. December 2010

The tour is almost over and Mike's on the bathroom floor.  
Covered in cold sweat, shivering, wheezing. And tired. So fucking tired...

It reeks of vomit but he's too weak to flush.  


 

The door to his suite opens and shortly after, his friend slips into the bathroom.  
And just looks at him with a concerned frown.

Mike tries a reassuring smile but fails miserably.  


The toilet finally flushes and he's helped into bed.

 

By the time his friend settles down next to him to keep an eye on him, he's already asleep.  
But he's not alone, and that's what counts.


	45. June 14th/15th 2018 [Double Drabble]

It's the night before the album drops and Mike's on the bathroom floor.  
Covered in cold sweat, shivering, wheezing.  
  


He woke up from a nightmare feeling sick, and while rushing to the bathroom he could feel the blood seeping out of his brain, downwards, and taking all the oxygen with it until stars were dancing in the corners of his eyes and all he could do was clumsily plop onto his ass and try to lie down without hitting his head on the tiles.

His lungs are tight and his ears are ringing and he feels like he's watching himself from above, and he feels stupid, so fucking stupid...  
  


In his dream they did it together.

Helped eachother adjusting the belts around their necks while chatting about the weather, an upcoming tour, the last movies they've seen, and Mike's fingers, they were wet and slippery and red because he kept hurting himself on the loop, and even though they were so close, he couldn't see his friend's face.

And then he was gone and everything was black water, no up, no down, no air, and Mike died alone.

 

Mike doesn't want to die.

If only that made living any easier...

 


	46. June 15th 2018 [Double Drabble]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ̶̶t̶̶h̶̶a̶̶n̶̶k̶̶s̶̶ ̶̶f̶̶o̶̶r̶̶ ̶̶t̶̶h̶̶e̶̶ ̶̶f̶̶a̶̶n̶̶a̶̶r̶̶t̶̶,̶̶ ̶̶M̶̶i̶̶k̶̶e̶̶

It's not his first show all alone up there, but Anna and his friends, they're there anyway and everyone is sweet and supportive and it makes him want to scream because he deserves none of it.

Because it's not like he wasn't aware he's been neglecting them.  
Anna in particular.

He can barely look her in the eyes anymore because he's sure he'll lose her, _knows_ he'll lose her as soon as he reveals himself as having become the exact kind of unfaithful bastard he never wanted to be.

Or rather, he hopes she leaves him when she finds out, because it'd mean she still has the energy to do so, still is aware she deserves better.

He looks at her and she smiles at him and it makes him want to cry. It makes him want to kiss her, too, but they're still on that break and the only way to end it is to talk.  
  


He ends up pecking Stryker on his lips instead when he jokingly flirts at him again, and it renders the poor guy unable to form full sentences anymore for the remainder of the evening, whenever they happen to be in the same room.

 


	47. Spring 2010 [Double Drabble]

Writing can be hard.

Today, though, it's just fun.

 

“Songs of innocence rising to the skies.”

“Songs of innocence _burning in_ the skies!”

Mike squeals and clasps his hands. “Ooooh! Ok, but how about: The fucking _blood_ of innocence burning in the skies!”

“YES! Write it down, write it down!”

And Mike does, albeit with a frown. “That must smell awful...”

“What?”

“Burning blood. Can blood even burn?”

“I dunno, maybe dried blood can?”

Mike shrugs and rereads what he just wrote.  
It makes his skin prickle and his heart beat a little faster.

 

It's been 34 hours since the last time he slept.  
Deadlines loom over the horizon like an upcoming storm, lightning flickering in the distance, clouds growling.  
The anxiety's eating him away from inside.

He tries not to care that people will hate this album, but he does.

Maybe they should stop. Just. Stop.  
Burn everything down. Run.

 

He smiles. “Let's fuck this up some more. Go full corpse with it.”

“YES! I'd like some severed hands. Like, cut off when they tried to hold song-me back. Or bones. Burned bones?”

  
They grin at each other. And add some bones.


	48. September 2001 [Double Drabble]

They're fighting and it's loud and ugly and completely unnecessary and his friend just shattered the mirror by throwing a chair at it.

Mike knows he should take a deep breath, step back, calm down, but he can't, he doesn't want to, he's angry, he wants to be heard, so he grabs the bedsite lamp and throws it to the ground, just to make a point, and continues to yell.

His friend's louder, though. He always is.  
He's also crying, and it makes Mike want to cry, too.

  
Sometimes Mike loses track on where one of them ends and the other begins, and this is one of those times.

  
It will become clearer again when his friend leaves to find some pot and bourbon to calm down, while Mike stays behind, explaining the noise and mess to Bob and the others, calculating with them how much it'll cost to pay for the damage and bribe the staff to keep their mouths shut.

He'd love to just fuck off and get wasted, too, but that would only complicate everything.

So instead he doodles tiny robots to calm down.  
Some of them end up broken and they're the ones he likes best.

 


	49. Mid-June 2018




	50. Mid-December 2017 [Double Drabble]

It's one of the coldest nights of the year and Mike is spending it at the laundromat, breathing humid, soapy air and watching his sleeping bag and underwear spin in the dryer.

It's also one of those nights where he's in pain; as if something inside of him had ruptured and wasn't given enough time to heal, but instead got hastily sewn back together in sloppy stitches by dirty fingers.  
  


He's tired. Lonely, too.

  
The door opens and a gush of icy wind pours in.

A scrawny guy, his own assumed age or younger, pale, skinny, shivering, stumbles inside, maybe drunk, maybe high, maybe both, looking for shelter.

Their eyes meet and something inside of Mike twists as the other man frowns.  
He looks like he's been crying...

Mike opens his mouth to ask him if he's okay, but he's already out of the door again.

Out of his reach.

  
A familiar feeling.

 

The dryer stops.  
  


Mike opens its door and gathers his sleeping bag, tightly wrapping his arms around it and burying his face into its hot synthetic fabric, almost burning himself.

It's nothing like the hug he actually needs, but it's warm and that has to be enough.

 


	51. April 22nd 2006

“I don't want you to die” Mike says, and the words come out a little squeaky because he's drunk and there's a heavy lump in his chest and dried blood on his friend's shirt.

And said friend?

He doesn't say anything, has nothing to offer but a tired smile, eyes that speak of pity and a lousy attempt at a hug.

But Mike slips away from his touch, back to his other friends, those he doesn't already mourn even though they're still breathing, and laughs, drinks, and pretends he never said a word.

His dying friend won't remember anyway.

 


	52. July 20th 2018 - 1/2

Today starts with Mike waking up with a bitter taste in his mouth from a nightmare he can't remember. His mind's running at 100 mph and thoughts and words keep spilling through his fingers like fine sand to the point where he can barely speak in full sentences.  
  


He knows he's expected to say something anyway.

Post something hopeful on social media.  
Make someone who doesn't exist anymore proud, be the fucking change. Shit like that.

 

He chooses to go on a hike in the hills and smoke pot instead.

And the rest of the day goes by dreadfully uneventful.

 


	53. July 20th 2018 - 2/2 [Double Drabble]

It's almost midnight and the bottle of wine they opened empty when Mike finally clears his throat and forces out a shaky “I think we should talk”.

And Anna, she nods because yeah, yeah they really should, but when Mike opens his mouth again, she covers it with her hand and shakes her head. And her voice is so thin, Mike can feel something inside of him crack.

“This might be the end for us.”  
“But I don't want to lose you...”

She considers reminding him that he deserves it though, that it's only fair because she already lost him months ago, but she doesn't. Instead she kisses him and he kisses her back and they attempt to have sex on the couch but can barely make out because they can't breathe through their noses from being crying, sniffling messes, both of them.

  
It's a terrifying thought, losing that life they built together, but its foundation is rotting away and they need to get out before it breaks apart and they're buried under what was once a safe roof over their heads.

  
The sex is awkward, desperate and entirely unsatisfying and they go to sleep in different beds.

 


	54. July 20th 2017 [Double Drabble]

She's sitting at the bottom of the stairs when he comes home, still clutching the phone with sweaty hands even though it's been at least half an hour since she got the news.

She doesn't say anything, just sniffles and wipes her eyes and nose and watches him shrug off his jacket, put away his keys, turn off his phone... patiently waiting for him to look at her – so she can open her arms and he'll sit down next to her and she can hug him and feel that he's still here and show him that she's still here, too, and promise him that they'll get through this. Together. Somehow.  
Probably.

Or so she assumes, well, hopes.  
  
  
But when he finally looks up, he just stares at her like he's never seen her before.  
Like he's not even seeing her _right now_.

She opens her arms.

He doesn't move.  
His breathing gets a little faster, though. A little more shallow, too.

She wispers his name.

He swallows.  
Then drops his gaze to the floor, shakes his head and silently slips past her.  
Not long and she can hear the door to his studio being locked.

 

And she's alone again.

 


	55. August 10th 2018

Seoul's right around the corner so he and his bandmates go on a day trip there.  
They have bibimbap and shaved ice with red beans in a small but crowded back alley and later visit Gyeongbokgung Palace.  
It's the first time for his new friends and their excitement is contagious.

It's a great day.  
  


It almost lets him forget that a month from now, he'll have to start packing.

They still haven't told the kids.  
He also didn't even look for a new apartment yet.

  
Good thing he's used to living in limbo by now.

Although soju definitely helps, too.

 


	56. July 28th 2018 [Triple Drabble]

What he thought an anxiety attack the night before reveals itself a precurser to actual sickness when he wakes up with a cotton stuffed head, aching limbs and tight lungs.

But he refuses Jim's suggestion to cancel the show, even though the idea of going on stage like this with no one around to draw attention away from his breath giving out, his voice missing the pitch, his fingers slipping off the keys, it's terrifying.

He promises to rest though, and curls up on a sofa backstage, closing his eyes, waiting for his meds to kick in, and pretending the armrest under his head was Anna's lap.

  
The show is a blur but the crowd is still cheering when he opens his mouth, so he's probably doing everything right, well, right enough at least.

There's rainbows everywhere and flags in various other color schemes he doesn't even recognize and that feeling of loss and disconnection from the people he loves and a community that's technically supposed to be his but that he feels like an intruder in – it hits him so hard he almost chokes.  
  


By the time Dave joins him, he long since lost track on what he's saying anymore in between songs, and when they leave the stage he bumps into an equipment case so hard it bruises his hip.  
He barely feels a thing though, as detached from the world, especially himself, as he is by then.

And yet he can still hear himself talk, laugh even.

And people, they smile back at him and tell him how well he did on stage, and how glad they are to see him do the thing he loves again.

  
It makes him sick.

  
So he tells Dave that Anna broke up with him.

And throws up on his shoes.

 


	57. Thanksgiving 2018

It's 2am and his parents and kids are fast asleep inside the cabin while Mike walks away.

His mind's an asshole this time though, refusing to let him forget himself. He longs to get lost, to maybe fall and injure himself, for something to happen, _anything_.

But there are no ghosts to be found in the nightly woods and no freedom in his running away this time.

  
  


Otis awaits him at the cabin door when he returns, dressed to wander into the dark himself to search for him.  
  


Mike hugs his son, quietly apologizes and they go back to bed.

 


	58. Early December 2018

They walk into each other in a store not far from the Botanical Garden:  
She who hates him because he hurt someone she loved, and he who hates her because she hurt someone he loved.

They see themselves in the other one, their passive-aggressive, possessive, spiteful, unforgiving, ugly side.  
The part of them that clings more to an idea of the one they lost than the actual person, to things that could've been, should've been, thankfully haven't been.

They don't have anything to say to each other.

So when Sam averts her eyes, Mike wordlessly turns away, pays and leaves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hereby on December 3rd 2018 call it, that Samantha fucking Bennington will release an autobiography and whatever drama she and her associates have been stirring within the past idk-how-many months, it's to encourage sales.
> 
> There. I said it. Be my witnesses!
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT from December 9th: I am not so sure about the book anymore but by now I assume they'll sell their story to TMZ or whatever.


End file.
